


Trust Me

by PhenixFleur



Series: The Deer and The Wolf [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monster Falls, Bill being creepy, Deer Biology, Dipper and his freaking Antlers, Fluff, Human!Bill, Hunter Bill AU, M/M, adult!Deerper, blood mention, of course there's a blood mention, wolf!Bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While dealing with an annual issue involving his antlers, Dipper is granted further confirmation of his occasionally creepy and sociopathic yet devoted significant other's promise to take care of him. Mostly fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as the second day entry for [Billdip Week](http://billdip-week.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. : )
> 
> **Terminology Notes:** Pedicles are the sites/antler base atop a deer’s head where the antlers grow in; when it’s time to shed them the tissue and bone at the base simply become weak enough for the deer to knock them off himself. It’s supposedly painless even though there can be bleeding; the assumption is that Dipper’s isn’t 100% like that of an actual deer due to being partially human, so it is uncomfortable for him when it’s time for them to come off. Biology! It’s fun!

“Wow.” The wolf let out a low whistle, holding his right antler (which was no longer attached to Dipper’s head) aloft. “That’s a  _lot_  of blood, kid.”

“Yeah.” Dipper lifted his hand to poke gingerly at the exposed pedicle, wincing at the pain that radiated along his scalp. His fingers came away covered in the same bright red fluid that now coursed its way along the incline of his cheek. The sight left him feeling cold, shivering for entirely different reasons apart from the early spring chill on the breeze. “It doesn’t usually bleed this much.”

“Hm.” The wolf turned the antler over in his hands; it was a pretty nice specimen, several points, over a foot and a half long. The cervitaur had reached the age where his antlers no longer served as simple decoration; they were veritable weapons, regardless of whether their own used them as such. “I’m keeping this.”

“That’s cool,” Dipper replied, waving the hand with the bloody fingers dismissively. “I don’t need it anymore. Are you going to wash the blood off first?”

The base of the snapped off antler was also splashed red, soaking into the wolf’s gloves and staining the grass below. “Would it bother you if I said no?”

Dipper shrugged. “A bit, probably. Maybe?”

“…I’m not washing the blood off first,” the wolf said firmly. This was not surprising to the cervitaur. Making out with (and the inevitable evolution of such) the hunter he’d encountered months ago in the woods on a fairly regular basis had left him with a more than passable impression of how he functioned. He’d long since decided that a lot of the hunter’s creepiness was for show, although a fair amount of it seemed to be genuine. It really didn’t bother him as much as it should have, not after several months of an improvised form of dating.

“I figured that would be the case.” Another poke at the weeping pedicle atop his head, another hiss of pain. “This is really awkward.  _Also_  I’m think I’m going to pass out now.”

The wolf nodded affirmatively. “Knock yourself out, Pine Tree.”

“That pun was stupid,” Dipper groaned. Then the forest faded out around him, sending him down, down, down into the depths of unconsciousness.

* * *

It was around the age of sixteen that Dipper’s antlers became a point of contention. By then they’d lengthened beyond the adorable nubs he’d sported upon the transformation years back, and the growth process now included all of the uncomfortable bits that he’d known were coming after combing through all the information he could find about white tail deer. This included accidentally injuring the velvet that coated his antlers while they were growing in for the year, actually shedding the velvet (which was horrifying in its own way; he’d never forget cantering into the kitchen screaming with bits of bloodied, shredded flesh dangling from his antlers, consequently scaring the absolute shit out of both his granduncle and his sister), and dealing with how uncomfortable it felt once it came time for the fully grown antlers to drop off in the brief interim between winter and spring.

He suspected that this was par for the course for actual deer, who likely went through the process barely batting an eye. But he  _wasn’t_   just a deer, no matter how many legs he possessed and how often loud noises sent him fleeing in the other direction. The part of him that retained its humanity found the whole thing to be incredibly frustrating, and over the next couple of years as he went through the process of growing and shedding his antlers, gaining additional points with every new cycle, he grew to despise having to deal with them during those pivotal moments more and more.

Now that he was nineteen the rack atop his head was lengthy and multipointed enough to do some actual damage if he felt so inclined (and if it wouldn’t cause a good amount of discomfort fighting someone with his head), and he spent part of the year stumbling around beneath their weight and sweeping stuff off shelves in the Mystery Shack, much to Stan’s dismay.

That morning had been no different. He’d managed to upend the toaster and a carton of orange juice, as well as ending up with a pancake impaled on one of his points like an odd accessory following Mabel temporarily losing her head and playing ring toss with her breakfast. All-in-all, normal for a meal involving the Pines family.

“Watch where you’re pointing those things!” Stan demanded after another near miss. Dipper had grown used to receiving help from his family when the bone reached penultimate weakness and it came time for them to snap off, and Stan was glad to lend a hand - partially out of love for his grandnephew, but also because he’d discovered that there was a market for white tail sheds. Dipper was just glad that he didn’t have to deal with slamming his head against a tree the way real deer did.

“Sorry,” he muttered, taking a step back from the table before he caused another disaster.

Stan shook his head. “On one hand they’re pretty impressive, and those sell for about 100 a pop in some places. On the other…” He paused contemplatively, then shrugged. “On second thought there is literally no downside to this.”

“And they’re fun!” Mabel chimed in, launching another pancake at her brother; Dipper moved out of its trajectory just before it speared itself on his right antler once again.

“Except for having to walk around with the equivalent of a small child attached to my head for several months,” he sighed; he would have slumped onto the table glumly but that meant risking putting out someone’s eye.

“It’s only a  _small_  child, though,” Mabel supplied; it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. “You need some help, bro bro?”

Dipper perked up at the sight of the clock - he’d wasted too much time dodging pancakes and apologizing for the crimes committed at the hands of biology that morning. “Not yet. Maybe later.”

Mabel raised an eyebrow.

“It’s fine!” He reassured the two of them, taking out a ceramic bowl in the process of turning to leave. “I’ve just got something to do today.”

“Uh-huh.” Mabel’s expression sharpened into a knowing smirk. “You’ve been spending a lot of time out in the woods lately.”

Dipper narrowed his eyes at the implication. “Research, Mabel. I’m just doing research.”

Stan inhaled a plate full of charred bacon in one go. “Be careful out there, Dipper.” The cervitaur grimaced as his granduncle belched loudly. “There are real monsters in those woods.”

“I know,” Dipper responded, ducking his head to hide his smile. “I know.”

* * *

Frustration with his antlers aside, the moment he stepped hoof outside the Mystery Shack the giddiness that came alongside his trips to the woods (which, despite what he’d told Stan and Mabel, had absolutely nothing to do with research) set in, sending him darting beyond the treeline and through the growing foliage unfurling after the last snow’s departure like an overly excited fawn. His heart rate picked up, rendering breathing normally impossible, and the burst of energy that took over lent him a speed that rivaled that he employed when fleeing from danger. This time he was running towards it, troubles laid aside.

Being in love was  _wonderful_.

It wasn’t long before he reached the clearing that held the small pond and delightfully springy grass that he’d felt against his flank so often. There, leaning against a tree trunk with his arms folded across his chest, stood the hunter who’d trapped him in a rather unorthodox way - with words that tickled his ears, leather clad fingertips pressed against his lips, and a devious smile befitting someone who referred to themselves as a wolf sans shame. Unlike Dipper he possessed none of the physical attributes of an animal, but the demeanor was there smoldering beneath the surface; it set his nerves alight with the thrill of potential danger. He’d never pegged himself for much of a daredevil until now.

“You’re late, kid,” the wolf stated in that silky, sly tone that made Dipper shiver every time he used it on him. “What took so long?”

“I wasn’t aware of there being a time limit,” he replied flippantly, making his way over to the wolf. 

“Heh.” The wolf reached out to scratch behind his ears (something he’d never admit to craving), and Dipper leaned into his touch. “Your lack of awareness is going to get you in trouble one of these days.”

His voice came out in a breathy whisper that he barely recognized as his own. “I’m already in trouble.”

Suddenly their positions were reversed, the wolf standing before him and his scut swishing against the trunk in time with the beating of his heart. Offhandedly he noted how relived he was that the branches were high enough to prevent him becoming entangled within them. That would definitely be a moodkiller.

The wolf’s hands combed through his hair, golden eyes locking with his hypnotically. “You know, no one can hear you out here. No one’s coming to save you.” 

“I don’t want to be saved.” God, did he not want to be saved. Not now; definitely not right now.

“Are you sure?” The wolf raised an eyebrow, as if he didn’t already know the answer to that question.

“I’m pretty sure.”

The wolf’s mouth crashed against his, teeth nipping at his lower lip and his tongue intermingling with the cervitaur’s in an embrace that always left Dipper breathless, lightheaded and clumsy on his hooves. Instead of fully allowing the wolf to lead he boldly pushed his way forward, deepening the kiss as the wolf’s hands continued to ruffle his hair…and brushing against one of his antlers, making him flinch in a way that wasn’t exactly pleasurable. “Ow.”

The wolf paused with his hands still buried in his hair, inspecting his features carefully for a few seconds. Then his fingers sought the antler in question and poked it again, this time a little harder.

Dipper recoiled, breaking contact. “What the hell, man? Don’t keep touching it!”

“Why not?” The wolf appeared to be genuinely curious about his desire to avoid pain, and Dipper struggled to avoid glaring at him. The man  _had_  to be pulling his leg. One of them, at any rate.

“Because it hurts?” He ventured.

The wolf continued to stare at him, clearly baffled. “So?”

Dipper sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and his thumb. “I feel like there’s a fundamental misunderstanding happening here.”

“How so?” The wolf licked his lips, winking at him. “Pain doesn't  _have_  to be a negative experience.”

“It usually is,” Dipper deadpanned. He tried to suppress the pleasant shudder that ran through his body as the wolf drew him closer once more with his gaze and those outright sinful fingertips.

“You trust me, right?” The wolf crooned.

His reservations began to melt away, sinking into those honeyed words and golden pools staring into his soul. “…I…yes.”

The wolf continued to run his fingertips over the fur along the sweet spot behind his ear, gingerly combining the sensation with a light tap against the base of his antler. The result was confusing, the two sites of contact contrasting with each other in a way that made him gasp. “Wait…don’t…”

The last word came out in a sound that was half moan, half whimper. “Don’t…”

The wolf tapped at his antler again…except this time the sensation overpowered that of the hand playing with his ear. “Shit,” he hissed. “That  _actually_  hurts.”

He pulled away, brushing against the wolf’s hand in the process and yelping at the sharp spike that drove into his skull. “ _Shit_.”

The wolf seemed to not understand that the situation had changed, reaching out to take hold of the antler in an attempt to reel him back in. The action sent yet another pang ripping along the crown of his head, and tears filled his eyes as he twisted away frantically. “Seriously, that-”

_Crunch_.

The organic sound halted both the wolf and the deer in their tracks, much louder than it needed to be.

Dipper’s head felt just a little lighter.

He gazed up at the wolf, whose own gaze was fixed on the bloody antler in his hand. It slowly panned from the antler to him, then back to the antler. The woods around them held their breath as an awkward silence filled the air.

Forget getting his antlers caught in the branches. This was the  _real_  moodkiller.

Crap.

* * *

He was drifting along a dark, dark sea, bobbing up and down, treading water. The sun was beginning to peek through the clouds, and Dipper welcomed its arrival, lifting his head towards the soft, pale light beginning to illuminate the strange world he’d found himself in.

“Mmhm…”

He heard himself moan, the unpleasant kind; the pain in his head had dulled but it was still present. Instead of the forest floor he was lying on something soft and firm - not grass, obviously. ‘Where…?“

As his vision began to clear, the features of the room sharpened and regained clarity; he was lying on his stomach in an extremely comfortable bed with an equally soft blanket draped over him. 

There was also the taxidermied head of what appeared to be mountain lion affixed to the wall directly over him, alongside a couple of perfectly bleached and polished skulls that he couldn’t identify. At any other time his first response would have been to immediately declare the owner of the bed (and thus the fucking heads on the wall) a serial killer and make a point of getting out of there. Instead he sat up, stretching, shooting the occasional glance at the heads mounted over his own while surveying the rest of the room. "Wow. That is  _really_  creepy.”

“Creepy?” The words were spoken in the wolf’s casual tone, no seduction inclusive. Dipper looked up to see him approaching with a small white box the size of a toolkit and a glass of water. “You should be more open-minded, kid.”

“Oh. Um…is this your place?" 

The wolf grinned at him. It was an expression he knew well, and served as all the proof he needed. "Oh yeah, this is definitely your place.”

He accepted the glass of water graciously, gulping it down; he hadn’t realized how dry his throat was upon awakening. While he polished it off the wolf sat down beside him, setting the box on the bed between them. “Like the decor?”

This time it was Dipper’s turn to give him one of his patented expressions of incredulity. The subvocal communication that came with relationships was really nice sometimes. 

The wolf shrugged his shoulders. “I’m the wolf here, remember?”

Dipper handed him the empty glass. “Yeah…I’m honestly not sure what I was expecting on that front.”

It was then that he noticed the antler that had been attached to his head earlier that day, being a nuisance but at least still being  _attached to his body_  instead of staring him in the face from across the room where it lay on a side table. And the memories of the circumstances behind him losing it flooded back in, making him bury his face in his hands in embarrassment. “Oh my god, that happened. I cannot believe that actually happened.”

“Why?” The wolf asked, nonchalantly. “That’s going to look amazing once it’s up on the wall.”

“You’re going to put it on the wall? With the blood?”

“Yes.”

Dipper mulled over this for a moment. “I really should be more unnerved by this.” It was a testament to how close they’d gotten over the past few months that he simply accepted it and shrugged it off. So his significant other was very likely a sociopath. It wasn’t an insurmountable obstacle. 

His hand drifted up to inspect the exposed pedicle - the blood appeared to have clotted, although it still hurt a good bit. More pressing was how unbalanced he felt with all the weight of his rack now shifted to one sight. 

A gloved hand placed itself atop his, and once more he was surprised by how gentle the hunter was with him compared to the evidence of his capability for taking down creatures wilder and seemingly more destructive than himself. “Would you like some help with that?”

Dipper paled. “I don’t…”

The wolf’s grip on his hand tightened, just firm enough to be reassuring. “I’m not going to hurt you, you know.” Golden eyes met his. “Not unless you want me to.”

As intriguing as the brief medley of pleasure and pain had been before his antler snapped, his main focus was on getting the remaining antler  _off_  so he stopped feeling as if he’d topple over at any minute. “I’d rather not.”

The wolf nodded, showing no trace of disappointment (to Dipper’s relief). 

The white box turned out to be a first aid kit; Dipper sat perfectly still, basking in the feeling of being cared for while the wolf cleaned the exposed pedicle and applied some sort of antibiotic cream that alleviated the pain immediately. Unfortunately it was now time to attend to the remaining antler - and his nerves coiled into a knot in fearful anticipation. 

Noticing his apprehension, the wolf pushed the first aid kit aside, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. “Do you trust me, Pine Tree?”

“…yes.”

He buried his head in the wolf’s shoulder, muffling a cry of pain as the wolf took ahold of the top of his left antler with one hand and the base with the other, snapping it off in one quick, incredibly precise motion. And then it was done, with far more efficiency than he was used to. Whatever the man had done differently this time resulted in little bleeding; Dipper stared at him with gratitude, smiling softly while the wolf attended to the pedicle left behind. He didn’t have words; not words that would make any kind of sense; instead he leaned against him, inclining his head so he could listen to his lover’s heartbeat. 

“Just so you know,” the wolf remarked, uncapping the tube of antibiotic cream, “I’m keeping this one too.”

“That’s fine,” Dipper sighed, happily. The giddiness was back. “That’s totally fine.”

The wolf tossed the cream aside, pulling him into his arms again. “I told you I’d take care of you, kid." 

Dipper’s eyes slipped shut. "Thank you.”

When he woke up a few hours later, still nestled in the wolf’s arms, he realized that the sun was beginning to set, casting heavy shadows on the floorboards through the curtains (which were some kind of animal hide - it seemed to be a running theme). The wolf wasn’t asleep, although his eyes were heavy-lidded; it gave Dipper the impression that he’d been watching over him as he slept. 

“It’s getting pretty late,” he commented, yawning. 

The wolf’s grip on him tightened possessively. “You really shouldn’t be wandering around at night. It’s dangerous out there.” The silken tone was back. 

“You know, you could always just  _walk_  me home." 

"You  _are_  home." 

"Oh.” Dipper met his gaze, stricken by the sincerity there. He really didn’t want to leave, not just yet, and it occurred to him that he could definitely get used to waking up like this. He loved Stan and Mabel, oh so much…but he loved his confusing, infuriating and captivating wolf as well. “This is the weirdest way to ask someone to move in with you.” He glanced up at the mountain lion head. “We’re gonna have to do some redecorating, though. Seriously man. This whole place looks like something out of a slasher movie.”

The wolf scoffed at this statement. “It’s my aesthetic.”

Dipper shook his head. “Your aesthetic is kinda messed up." 

Another thought occurred to him then, one he’d had before and pushed to the back of his mind; one ostensibly more nerve-wracking than any number of heads mounted on the wall. "Also…I think I have to introduce you to my family.”


End file.
